


Sometimes It's What You Don't  See

by whowhatsitwhich



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whowhatsitwhich/pseuds/whowhatsitwhich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those were the things that stayed with you, that left a permanent mark. The<br/>things that, in the end, meant the most no matter how much time passed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes It's What You Don't  See

**Author's Note:**

> Written in honor of The Walking Dead Season 4 premiere and because my Caryl feels are abounding. Reviews and comments are appreciated. Thank you.

Sometimes It's What You Don't See

Her hands find the places by rote, where her past is written in silvery lines on her flesh. A small bump on the side of her wrist, where the bone set and a callus grew over the break. A thin mark at the base of her thumb where her hand slipped while opening a can of peaches and laid it wide open. The starburst scar on her inner arms where Ed put out his cigarette one night in a drunken rage. Her story written on her own flesh…the sum total of what she was if not who she was.

He sits silently, as he often does, ready to listen if she wants to talk or keep her company if she doesn't. He flicks a look at her from beneath his sweaty fringe of bangs before turning back to the knife he was currently sharpening. The dull rasp of the blade against the stone soothes her. She side eyes him, intent on his hands and how they move. He shifts uncomfortably, never looking up or ceasing his movements, but she still knows that he knows she's watching and is bothered by it. He doesn't like people looking at him, even her. She gets a free pass most days, but old habits are the hardest to break.

"Did I ever tell you I have a tattoo," she confessed on a whisper. A lifted eyebrow and quirk of his lip is her only reply. Her hand ghosts over her ankle, covered by a thin leather boot and dirty denim. "Just the one. I got it before Ed, before anything really. I was just a wide-eyed kid with more dreams than anything else, thinking that I had the world at my feet and nothing but time." Her lips turn up in a pensive smile as her hand brushes aimlessly at her leg. "Found the design in one of those mythology books and fell in love with it. I carried it around with me for almost a year, until I was old enough to get it without having to have Mother sign for me. When I left for college, my friend and I went straight down to the shop. Mother would have killed me, going to a place like that but I didn't care. I wanted that tattoo more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life."

He nods once, to show he's listening. His gaze skates over where her hand still hovers, a silent question in his eyes. He's leaving it up to her, letting her decide how far she wants to take this twisted version of show and tell she's instigated. Biting her lip, Carol tugs up the leg of her pants, baring her calf and rolls her foot to give him a better angle. His blue eyes dart up, meeting hers for an instant before dropping obligingly to the strip of pale skin.

It was palm-sized, a snake doubled back on itself, shaded in alternating bands of red and gold. She blinked at it self-consciously, scrubbing a hand through her hair as she watched him bend down for a closer look. "It means infinity," she explained. "No endings or goodbyes. Things starting over and going on…that there's time." Tears prick her eyes, blurring her vision and knotting her tongue. "I always thought there'd be time," she mutters thickly. "No matter how bad it got. No matter how many times he beat me down, I hung on to that. As long as there was time, there was a chance that Sophia was going to have a better life. I could still make it better for her, if I just had time. I didn't know it would run out. I didn't think it would turn out like this."

Daryl grunted, his own hand tugging at the hem of her jeans, covering the tattoo back up. "Wouldn't your fault," he rasped. "Don't go thinking that it was neither. You did the best you could."

She smiled thinly, tucking her pant legs into her boots. "I'd like to think so but sometimes, it doesn't seem like enough."

He rocked back on his heels, still angled away from her but now that steady gaze was locked firmly on her face. "You loved her and she knew it. That's always enough, Carol." The slow scuff of the blade sliding against the stone resumed. "Never thought about getting another one?" He asked idly.

She couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up. It was such a random question, even coming from him of all people. "Once," she confided. "Something girly like a flower of some sort." Her laugh turned rueful. "I never thought I was elegant enough to rate something so grand as a rose. Maybe a dandelion or a daisy would have been more right."

He huffed before pushing to his feet, settling the crossbow strap on his shoulder and putting the knife in its sheath at his belt. "Gonna take a turn around camp. Make sure everything's alright. You'll stay here." The last wasn't a question but she nodded just the same. He took a few steps away before coming back and kneeling beside her. She started to feel his thumb on the soft skin of her wrist, right where her pulse fluttered like a wild thing. "You could do the rose," he muttered before ghosting away, his footsteps fading along with him. Her wrist burns where his thumb rested, her heart galloping in her chest.

She lets herself smile, her own fingers resting where his had just moments before. A memory of velvety, pale petals and a shy, quiet voice with just a hint of pleading in it. She wishes now more than ever that she'd kept that flower he'd brought her as carefully as she wrapped up that memory. Her hands trace her scars but her mind turns in, to other times and other days that didn't scar…at least not on the outside. Her daughter's wide eyes as she'd darted over the rail with those two things hot on her heels. His eyes as he'd raised his head after many minutes spent listening to her crying only to announce that he was going to walk the road and look for the girl. His hands on her shoulder, rubbing away the sore muscles brought about by the rifle's kick. Sophia's hands cradling the tattered doll as she wept, bidding the Morales girl goodbye at the quarry. Her timid smile when Rick assured them that the Grimes family wouldn't go to the Grand Canyon without her and her mother. His smile and the bashful tilt to his head, unsure that she'd smile back after his harsh words the night before.

Those were the things that stayed with you, that left a permanent mark. The things that, in the end, meant the most no matter how much time passed.

It ends…..


End file.
